As a teen, every major moment was preempted by a torturous

When Elaine Welteroth confessed, “As a teen, every major moment was preempted by a torturous, hours-long hair-straightening session. Sleek, silky strands made me feel prettier. And the truth is, I was completely clueless about how to deal with my curls! When they weren't flatironed into submission for special occasions, they were practically glued down with gobs of gel,” she spoke a truth that countless young people, particularly young women of color, have carried in silence. Her words are not merely about hair—they are about identity, belonging, and the painful struggle between authenticity and conformity.

The origin of this struggle lies in the world of beauty standards, forged by centuries of narrow ideals. For generations, society told young women that to be beautiful was to look a certain way—to tame, to flatten, to erase the natural features that made them unique. Welteroth’s hours of straightening and gels were not only about style but about survival in a culture that too often exalted smoothness over texture, sameness over diversity. As a teen, she did what many do: she sacrificed comfort and authenticity to meet the gaze of a world that did not yet honor her natural beauty.

History bears witness to this same battle. In the United States, during the Civil Rights era, Black hair became a symbol of resistance. To wear an Afro was to defy the command to assimilate, to proclaim dignity in one’s own natural form. Leaders like Angela Davis turned curls into a crown of protest, challenging oppressive standards. Yet long before and long after, many young girls still faced the silent torment of feeling “less than” unless they altered themselves to fit prevailing ideals. Welteroth’s story belongs to this continuum: a deeply personal reflection tied to a collective history of beauty, struggle, and reclamation.

The deeper meaning of her words is this: true beauty is not found in conformity, but in embracing the natural self. To spend hours ironing and binding one’s hair into submission is symbolic of the way many of us flatten parts of ourselves to be accepted—our voices, our dreams, our identities. Yet what is lost in the process is not only time and energy, but the joy of being fully seen. Welteroth’s younger self was “clueless” not because she lacked wisdom, but because she was surrounded by a culture that offered no guide on how to celebrate her curls.

Her reflection also reveals the universal truth that the teen years are a crucible of identity. It is during this season that many first encounter the friction between who they are and who the world tells them to be. For some, it is about hair; for others, about language, clothing, faith, or sexuality. The rituals of “fitting in” may seem trivial to outsiders, but they are often heavy burdens carried in silence. In sharing her story, Welteroth opens a door of recognition for all who have ever felt compelled to hide themselves in order to be accepted.

The lesson here is eternal: do not fight against what makes you unique—learn to honor it. What feels like a curse in youth may become the very crown of your adulthood. Just as Welteroth would later embrace her natural hair and advocate for broader definitions of beauty, so too must we encourage the young to see their differences as strengths, not flaws. Conformity may win temporary approval, but authenticity builds enduring confidence and power.

Practical wisdom flows from this. Parents and mentors, remind the young often that their worth is not measured by how well they imitate others but by how boldly they inhabit themselves. Young people, learn early to experiment not in the erasure of your identity but in its celebration. Seek out role models, communities, and spaces that affirm your natural beauty and unique self. And for all of us, challenge the systems and images that promote only one narrow kind of beauty, for inclusivity is liberation not just for a few, but for all.

Thus, Elaine Welteroth’s words rise as more than a memory of long hours with irons and gel. They are a parable about the dangers of suppression and the triumph of authenticity. The wisdom to pass on is this: your curls, your differences, your truth—these are not burdens to be hidden but gifts to be embraced. For when you cease to flatten yourself to fit the world, you rise tall enough to change it.